Overnight
by TheVoiceOfTheJellicles
Summary: The night Christine left the Phantom, broken within the lair, was a night the another began to uncover his secret... Once Named 'Inside My Mind', but that was too cliche, so I changed it.
1. Chapter 1

**-*- ** - - ** - - ** - - ** - - ** - - ** - - ** - Inside My Mind - ** - - ** - - ** - - ** - ** - ** - ** -*-**

I stood before the curtains, running my hand on the hypnotising, dark red felt. The gold curls of the hem swirled before my eyes, like wisps of smoke. It transfixed me. The endless world that took place after it lifted. It filled me with a sense of joy. Joy unlike any you could imagine. That was why I moved.

I used to live in the country side. But, nothing ever appealed to me there, other than dancing out in the field, before being called back to care for the crops. But Paris, the Paris Opera, to be specific, had always appealed to me. So there was me, little ol' me, leaving everything I ever knew, behind to purse a world of stage lights and dramatic head sopranos (I think we all know what I'm referring to there).

I felt the curtain beneath my fingertips, disturbed and then smoothed as my hand caressed its simple lining. A curtain that made me, usually, peaceful, but for this one moment, I wished nothing more than to run far away.

It was the first show I had ever been a part of as a stage crew, and it had been a _disaster_. You may have known of the show. It was called _Don Juan Triumphant_. It had overly forced singing, and was cut short by a dead male lead and a kidnaped female lead. And it had just transpired tonight. Our Don Juan has been taken to his family and the poor soprano was still yet to be found, however our theatre's dance instructor has returned from taking our patron, Monsieur Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, to find the unfortunate woman.

So I stood here. Contemplating everything, while feeling the lining of the curtain that concealed the true disaster that had transpired a mere few hours ago.

Restlessness got the better of me, and I found myself at a strange door. It appeared to be the door to the dressing room of one Christine Daae, our poor lead female. Even from outside, I could hear that no one was inside. Mustering up my courage, I eased the door open. It was fairly simple. A dressing table, a rack of costumes for what would've been this night's performance. I, feeling uncomfortable, and vulnerable in this room, turned around, and left the room.

Instead of leaving the Opera Populairè, I my legs, appearing to have a mind of their own, took me deeper into the bowels of the building, 'til I came across a lake, a boat and the heavenly call of what sounded like a siren. In the distance, I saw a light. In the darkness, the light looked so appealing, that I found that I had no other choice, but to clamber aboard the boat and row across the vast, glassy lake, towards it.

As I closed in to what look like a house, swirling mist, began to curl around me, encapsulating me in cloudy grey.

I practically shot off the boat, racing inside, stumbling forward a slight. I stared around me, making my way to the organ that stood, lonely in the centre of the room. Beside the organ sat a grand chair, which seated… _my god!_ Sat a figure, covered by a black cape. Tentatively, I shuffled toward the figure. Is this what became of the unfortunate soprano, Christine Daae? Was she the body beneath the cape? Was she afraid? Was she… was she even alive at all? Slowly I reached out and whipped the cape away…

And the figure disappeared.

Up in smoke, as though he had never been there in the first place.

I balled the cape up, in my hands and tossed it aside, as I stared down at the small, glinting, white mass that stared back up at me. I wrapped my fingers around it, bringing it closer, for inspection.

It was a mask.

A pure, glossy white mask shaped like half a man's face, as though he only wanted to hide half of himself. Curiosity, and a strange feeling of dread welled in the pit my stomach. I couldn't bear to stare at it any longer, but my eyes wouldn't look away. Beyond any reason, beyond any stage curtain, any glittering costume, it encapsulated me. I had never been so fascinated… or so scared.

A growling sound erupted behind me.

"Little vermin!" it cried, "You are not _her_! Leave me in piece."

Shaking, I turned and what stood before my eyes, was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. His face was half man, half horror. Before I could even utter a cry, I was speeding away. Away from that… that _demon_. I was shooting towards the exit of the building, before being caught by a man, worry etched on his face.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" He asked, gently. I looked up… it was the Vicomte. _Raoul De Chagny_. I nodded my head slowly, peeling myself out of his grip.

"I'm fine…" I said shakily. The Vicomte led me to a seat outside Ms Daae's room. Raoul knelt in front of me.

"You gave me a quite a fright, kid," he chuckled, "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

Raoul was dressed in a white shirt, rolled up to his sleeves, and simple pants. He was sweating, and had an angry red line around his neck. Without thinking, I reached out, to examine the wound. The Vicomte jerked backwards. I whipped my hand back, embarrassed.

"S-sorry." I muttered. The man before me smiled.

"It's fine," he murmured. "You're one of the new stage crew, aren't you? You seem like a sweet girl. Who in their right mind would want to frighten you so badly?"

I laughed lightly, a smile cracking its way onto my face. I opened my mouth to tell him what I saw, but something in my mind told me, that what I saw was _not_ something to be shared.

"I was looking around the lower parts of the theatre…" I said quietly, as the Vicomte stiffened, "Something… something made a sound… maybe a rat… I think (Raoul eased)… gave me a fright."

Raoul smiled, softly. "There is nothing here to harm you," he said gently, "I promise you. But, I best be going. My fiancé and I are leaving town for a few months."

My smile faltered. Even though I had only spent a few minutes with the man in front of me, I already felt safe around him. If that _thing_ were to come after me, I hoped, _prayed_ , Raoul would be there to look after and protect me.

Raoul then stood, and went inside Christine's room, emerging, moments later, with a woman (Christine) trailing behind him. Raoul turned to me.

"I hope to see you again…" He trailed off, searching for my name.

"Victoria," I said, "I'm Victoria Albus."

Raoul took in a breath, "Well, see you again, Victoria." And with that, he and Christine disappeared.

And with that, my life had changed forever…

I just didn't know it yet.


	2. 6 Months Later

**6 MONTHS LATER…**

It never occurred to me how beautiful Christine Daae could be. She was one of those people that would exude grace and made anyone who was lucky enough to witness her love her instantly. It only occurred to me now because that grace and poise was lost. Now, the once glamorous Christine was now skittish and paranoid. She twitched at the slightest touch and would have nervous breakdowns more often than not. This caused the Vicomte, her now fiancée to be forced to be always at the Opera, should Christine have a breakdown.

That last fact, I didn't mind, for it meant that when the actors were rehearsing some dance or song, Raoul and I could sit together. He was a well-mannered man. Very respectful and always kept the perfect distance so as to not be rudely far away, but not rudely too close. We actually talked very little, but that suited us both fine. We weren't ones for small talk, and when we did converse, it was on things like my work.

It was during one of those times that something curious happened. Of course, it was nothing strange enough that it required investigation, but it was enough to make my mind whir. Simply, a prop had moved. Of course, the entire cast was on stage, and Raoul and I were the only ones on this side of the stage. And yet, little black rose, that the character in our current opera ( _Piccola Ala_ , Italian for Little Wing), _Bella_ , who was played by Christine, used, had shifted from one end of the table that it rested on, to another.

I passed this little rose's shift of for a cast member going to retrieve it at the wrong time, but then I remembered that no one had come since I had placed that rose there myself. My mind then lingered back to that moment six months ago. Had that thing moved the rose without Raoul's or my knowledge? The thought made me inwardly shudder. _No,_ I thought, _don't think of that… that_ _ **thing**_ _!_

I was brought from my thoughts by a head of chocolate curls bobbing towards me.

"Raoul," She started, and I zoned out. Christine and her fiancée conversed quietly, their mutterings barely audible to me, despite my closeness to them (not that I was eavesdropping… *looks around suspiciously*). Christine then stood before me, her soft blue eyes boring into me.

"Victoria," she said and I nodded to show that I was paying attention, "I have been dismissed from the rehearsal, but I was not happy with a scene. If you wouldn't mind, could you help me practise in my dressing room?"

I looked up at her. She shifted her weight on the balls of her toes in nervousness. I, stunned at the request, simply nodded. I followed Christine to her dressing room. She handed me her music. I tried to protest, but she simply said,

"I know all of my part, but I doubt that you do."

I smiled sheepishly, and took the sheet.

Now, I was not an opera singer. I never had been, and I never thought I could be, so when it came to the moment when I had to sing, a wave of panic rushed over me. This was _Christine Daae_. The songbird of the opera house. It would have been an insult to even _try_ to perform with her. I made this clear to her, when she looked at me expectantly for my song.

"I could give you some breathing techniques, and a few other things," She offered, "To help,"

I smiled shyly at her, and slowly nodded my approval.

"Well," She grinned, having finally found someone to bestow her expertise on, "You see, if you just…"

 **(CHANGED P.O.V … ;D)**

I rested my hands on the keys of my organ, staring at the piece rubbish I had just composed. It was all I could but to rip the piece apart, but I didn't have the strength, nor the heart.

Suddenly, a beautiful melodic voice made its way down the halls and caverns to where I was resting and I smiled as I heard it.

Christine.

My dear Christine sharing her – _my –_ knowledge onto another, and better yet, it wasn't that fop of a fiancée.

She rarely frequented her dressing room anymore, and sang there even less. I know it was my fault. That mirror that sat opposite the door, brought back too many painful memories, so I almost never heard her heavenly voice anymore.

I cringed slightly as whoever Christine was teaching hit a bad note, but to my surprise, recovered without another pause. I could tell Christine had smiled.

Dear Christine, lord knows how you broke me. How I, blinded by jealousy, had ruined anything that could have been, though even _I_ know now that my chances were slim to none. Now I waste away here, never to be seen or heard by another again.

I bent down and picked up the veil that I had once forced upon Christine's head. I held it close to my heart, as a single tear slid its way down the distorted side of my face.

 _I miss you._

 **(AAAaaaand Back to Victoria)**

I closed my mouth slowly, shocked that I had made that sound. Sure, it was nowhere _near_ the level of expertise that even the chorus had, but it was passable. _Passable._

"Wow…" I breathed. Christine beamed at me, the first true smile I had seen grace her lips. It seemed to light up the whole room.

"Progress!" She cheered. I grinned back at her.

"Who… who taught you to sing?" I asked. Christine's smile immediately dropped, and her face turned white as a sheet.

"Christine?" I asked shakily, "Are you alright?"

Christine shook her head, colour returning to her cheeks. "Oh, I'm fine," She assured me, "But I'd rather not talk about my… training."

I nodded in solemn understanding. There were things that I could not stand to talk about, things that seemed mundane and small talk-ish.

There was a knock at the door. Christine glanced at me, then crossed the room, to open the door. To our relief, it was just Raoul. I greeted him with a friendly smile, which he briefly returned.

"Forgive me," he said, with a light smile, "But I must take our Prima Donna home to rest. I hope you don't mind,"

I nodded my head, showing that I understood. "Of course," I said, "I hope to see you both tomorrow." And with that, I scurried out of the room, closing the door gently behind me. I began to walk away, when I heard the door open and someone called my name. I turned. Raoul beckoned me towards him. I obliged, feeling redness flood my cheeks.

"Thank you," He said, "For… for being… friendly, I guess, humane to us. Most would turn from us, but you have been nothing but kind. For that, I thank you."

I smiled at him, "My pleasure."

I turned without another word, I turned on my heel and left the Opera Populairé.

I slowly shuffled my feet back towards my apartment building. I cast a glance to my surroundings. With all the people that were milling about on the streets and perusing the barren shop keeps, I knew that there wouldn't be a very warm home awaiting me. When there were few people that would be home, it always meant that there were no fires lit to keep us warm when we came home. I didn't mind, though. It wasn't like I lived in glamour and could complain. Few people in my area even _had_ a fireplace, so I was content with what I had.

What surprised me though, was that my apartment building was off limits. I sought out my landlord, Mr Aubry. He turned to me with a sad smile. He had always taken a shine to me.

"My dear," he said, "I'm sorry you weren't alerted sooner, but I can no longer hold a living off this building, so I have been forced to sell it. You'll find your things neatly packed at your point of employment…" he paused for a moment, "You do work at the Opera House, still, correct?"

I nodded slowly, barely believing my ears. I had been turned out of my apartment, because my landlord couldn't pay for the building. Tears welled in my eyes. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't how it worked. That happened to people who deserved it. What had I done?

I dejectedly scrapped my feet back to the Opera House. Where was I supposed to stay now? There was no one that I was close enough with to ask them if I could stay. For a brief moment I considered asking Christine and Raoul, but I decided against it. It would have been too awkward. My mind drifted back to six months ago. Despite, that thing in the bowels of the theatre, there was a fully furnished house that could possibly even be abandoned. I stalked my way through the opera, lugging my scarce yet heavy belongings behind me. I was lucky that there was no one left in the theatre, otherwise, they would have definitely questioned my intentions… and my sanity.

Carefully, but not too gracefully, I loaded my belongings onto the boat beneath the opera house, sailing across the lake to the doorstep to the house that could quite literally be my doom.


	3. Entrance

The house was fairly barren, and quiet. Each creak of the floorboards sounded like fireworks to my ears. I let out a sigh of relief – the house was empty. It was evident that no one was home. The sound of my grunts and groans as I dragged my heavy luggage would have awoken the dead, yet I didn't even hear a rustle of fabric as though someone turned to look in my direction.

I managed to get all my stuff to a room that appeared sufficient for my stay, with only a few minor bruises and a cut finger. I flopped down onto the bed, which was very soft and warm. I stood again, and went to close the door, but something caught my eye. There, on a table across the hall was a sheet of music. Carefully, I picked it up, for closer examination. I nearly dropped it. Across the top, in fancy cursive writing, was the unmistakable title: _Don Juan Triumphant_. I out it back on the table, and hurried back to my room, slamming the door behind me. Breathing heavily, I stripped off my dress, changing into a simple, pale pink, nightgown, before burrowing into the warm blankets of the bed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke in a sort of daze. It took a few seconds for me to realize were on God's green planet I had just woken up. Then the events of the previous day came crashing back to my like a tidal wave. I was beneath the Opera House, in a little home, that was currently vacant.

I sat up in the bed, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, and trying to figure out a way to arrive to work, that didn't require me coming up from the bowels of the theatre. That would warrant too many questions for my taste. I pulled together a simple grey outfit, before heading to the kitchen to see if any food was still stocked and was slightly edible.

But what I saw made me suck in a breath. There, book in hand, was a man. I was too shocked to make a sound, and too frightened to move. Apparently, my presence in this house was unknown to him as well, as he appeared as shocked as I was. But suddenly, fury clouded his eyes and he flew at me, forcing me against the wall.

"Why are you here?" he spat, "Why did you think you could come here? Do you think you have any right to be here? After everything?"

Then confusion crossed his face.

"You are not Christine," he said, simply, "Who are you?"

"Victoria," I squeaked, "Victoria Albus. Please don't hurt me." It was at this point that I saw that half his face was covered in a white mask.

"I suggest that you leave then, Victoria." He said my name like a curse.

"Please!" I pleaded, "I-I have nowhere to go."

"And that's my problem?" He asked sarcastically. "I don't care about snotty little ballet rats-"

"Technicians," I corrected.

"Technicians," He repeated, "I don't care about some snotty little technicians that have been cast out of their homes for being too rowdy, or trying to make a little extra cash with their bodies." I nearly gagged,

"I was cast out because my drunk of a landlord spent all _his_ money from rent on alcohol, instead of actually paying his mortgage!" I almost shouted. Okay, that was a _bit_ of a lie, but I was desperate. He took a step back, to evaluate me. I could tell from his expression he was considering letting me stay, but the way his seemed to look straight into my soul, unnerved me enough for me to reconsider coming here. The man sighed.

"Fine," he said, begrudgingly, "But there _will_ be rules." I nodded in understanding.

"You will not speak to me, eat with me, enter my room, or enter the music room when I am composing. As such, the rules apply to myself as well. And by _no_ means should you tell anyone where you are staying, or that I am present here. And _never_ touch the mask. Are we clear?"

I nodded again. I shifted uncomfortably, a question I was afraid to ask, balancing on the tip of my tongue. My discomfort didn't go unnoticed.

"You're question, Mademoiselle?"

"I work at the opera house," I put simply, his expression didn't change, "And people will ask questions as to why I come to work from the bowels of the theatre. Do you – by any chance – happen to have another exit?"

He sighed, his expression softening a slight, but still firm and controlling.

"There is an entrance I'm sure you can find, that exits the Opera entirely. Now, do we have a deal?"

He held out a slender hand to me. I, somewhat confidently, took it.

"Deal."

Living with that man was _far_ from easy. He had the temper of a bull, which made me, when I wasn't working, reside in my room, most of the time. There were even times that I would hear him shouting about something, so loud and forcefully, that it made me want to curl up in a little ball and cry.

I didn't know what this man had done, to force him into such seclusion, but heaven have mercy on the poor soul that crossed him. I assumed that his seclusion was prompted by whatever he covered with that white mask he was so adamant that I never touched.

It wasn't that I had the chance, though, as I rarely ever actually saw him. I was either at work, or cowering in my room, and he was always in his music room, abusing the keys of what could only be an organ.

When I was feeling braver, I would venture to his library, to peruse book collection, but once he was also there, so that scared me off from doing that again. I had managed, in the middle of the night, however to pinch a few novels from his collection, to keep me occupied for now.

Work was going past in a blur. We were rocketing towards opening night, yet half the chorus didn't know their notes, and the other half was clueless on their blocking. The only hope seemed the leads. Christine was lovely on stage, if a little shaky, and whoever her male lead (I honestly didn't care what his name was) was making an effort, though he was clearly unnerved by what happened to Piangi.

I came back to what I could call 'home', one day, to find the man that I was staying with, practically waiting for me at the doorway.

"You're late getting back." He put simply. I frowned.

"Yes…" I nodded nervously, "I had to run a few things." And with that he turned away, stalking towards the music room, making me even more confused than I already was.

"What was that?" I asked, angrily. "Since when do you care? Last I was told, we weren't supposed to speak!"

He turned. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't died."

"Why do you care?" I asked again.

He shrugged, "I was hoping I could get my house back."


	4. Cracking the Surface Part 1

I'm not going to lie, if I could swap lives with just about _anyone_ else in Paris, I would jump at the chance. That… _man_ , who I had taken to nickname in my head _Phantom_ – due to his uncanny ability to float around the house silently – was slowly driving me to insanity. It seemed as though anywhere I went in the house, I could sense his eyes on me, watching me eat, read, and sometimes even sleep (only when I was on the couch by accident. He had boundaries).

One day, like any other, I felt his presence, and I snapped. I believe it had something to do with a combination of stress from my work at the opera, and general irritation from my situation in life that just made me furious.

"Great Blazes!" I cried, startling him, "Bloody hell, can you stop staring at me?!" He looked taken aback behind his mask.

"I-" he started, "Forgive me." And with that, he left the room. I sat back on the seat of which I was perched and contemplated what had just occurred.

 _Where had_ that _come from?_ I asked myself. _I just exploded at him. And I am_ always _angry with him when he blows off at me. Am I a hypocrite? No,_ I assured myself, _I just needed to blow off some steam. Still, I feel bad. I ought to go apologize._

I stood, dusting off my pale green dress, and went in search for _Phantom_. Luckily, he had not retreated to his music room and was sitting reading, at the dining table. He didn't move when I entered, however his grip tightened on the book he was reading, which was indication enough that he was aware of my presence in the room.

I lowered my head as I spoke to him. "Forgive me for my actions and for me raising my voice. I had no right, and I am sorry if I startled you."

I turned to walk away, when he spoke to me.

"It is not your fault," he murmured, "I should not have been watching you so closely. It is I who ought to be apologizing."

I smiled a little. "I take it that you were not aware of the awkwardness of the situation from my perspective."

He glanced up at me, "In truth, I am not very trusting. I was watching you because I am worried that you will betray me."

I laughed, "And with that I'd be cast out of this home."

He laughed as well, "I understand that. But still, you could be housed with a friend until you found a proper home."

I laughed again, "The only friends I have would probably not be so willing to house me. They have dinner parties often and it would be awkward for me to be there as well.

"And why, may I ask, would it be awkward for yourself to be a guest as well."

I laughed yet again, "Because the company of a Vicomte and his fiancée," I saw him stiffen, "Are often well off folk, those of who my company would by no means be appreciated."

"Then I am glad you continue to reside here, and choose not to leave this house."

I smiled again, and left the room.

So that was slightly awkward. But I could not, in my own right mind say that I didn't enjoy it. He had a manner of speech that much reflected my own. Despite Phantom's flaws, he seemed very temperate man… on certain days.

I was a slight bit saddened when he went back to the distance and silence. Apparently _he_ did not enjoy speaking with me. I shrugged it off as a walked around the block to the proper entrance to the opera, and was greeted with a familiar smiling face.

Raoul.

He smile widened when he saw me, coming up, to walk me inside. I wasn't sure why, but he seemed to be in a very cheerful mood today.

"Good morning, Victoria, my fine friend. How are you on this glorious day?" he asked almost obnoxiously brightly.

Okay, too cheerful. Something's wrong.

"What's gotten you in such a joyful mood?" I questioned playfully.

"Can a man not be happy on a day like this?"

I shot him a confused alarmed look. "The sky is clouded, the air is icy, it smells like waste and you'll have to deal with at least one break down from your fiancée… not that I blame her." I added quickly, "I don't understand how you can be so happy, when all of this is occurring before your eyes."

He shrugged, "I have to be happy somehow. Life will get far too depressing if I allow all of that to weigh down on me."

My expression lifted, "That's fair."

He smiled at me, offering me his arm "Isn't it."

I gladly took his arm and the two of us strolled into the opera, like a pair of high off royalty.

My cheerfulness soon depleted, as our final dress rehearsal began before opening night. To say that it was going wrong would have been the understatement of the century. The chorus was a mess, props went missing without a shred of an idea where they went. Everyone was leaving early, people were missing their cues and if I had to choose between being whipped or continue rehearsing this, then someone hand me the whip. I'll do it myself.

It got so bad at one point or managers just decided to push back opening night. It had been months since the last show – _Don Juan Triumphant_ – and there hadn't been a paying audience member for an eternity, so now money was becoming tight. Can someone _please_ just kill me?

Finally, myself and the other backstage technicians, just chose to storm out.

We were only half way through rehearsal, so when I stormed back into the house, I could tell that I had started Phantom. I didn't say a word to him, and just stomped to my room, throwing the door shut.

I finally forced myself to leave the comfort of my room. I sought out the library, hoping that a good read my settle and calm my thoughts. To my surprise, Phantom was seated on the couch, clearly engrossed in whatever he was reading. I picked a random book from the shelf – _Les Miserables_ , how fitting to my current mood – and seated myself quietly beside Phantom. To my astounding surprise, he remained exactly where he was. Silently, I rested, ever so slightly against his shoulder. I heard him suck in a breath, clearly not used to being so close to another, and yet he still did not move.

We read far into the night, until I could barely keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember was resting my head on his shoulder.

 ***Re-uploaded because my dumbass used 'Erik' instead of 'Phantom' before Victoria was aware of his name. {face palms} ***


	5. Cracking the Surface Part 2

I awoke gently, taking in my surroundings. I was sideways, that much I knew, but the room was not familiar, and the pillow was not comfortable. Then it dawned on me. I was in the library. I could clearly see now the vast expanse of volumes and texts that were waiting across from me. And my pillow must be-

"I can tell that you are awake," The voice startled me. Oh no. I had fallen asleep _on_ Phantom, and I am still there now. My head is resting on his lap. I sat bolt upright, making him jump. My cheeks became enflamed and I could barely look him in the eye. I heard him laugh.

"You fell asleep on my shoulder, before slowly making your unconscious way to my lap. You were rather cute when you were sleeping, so I chose not to wake you."

He stood, "Though I do wish to stretch my legs, with a walk… perhaps you would do me the honour of joining me."

He held out his hand. Warily, I took it. I was confused, however, as he pulled on his large hat and cloak. Perhaps this was one of those moments when her saw us as more friends than the uncomfortable silence, still, it was strange, as I changed into a new dress. I was going on a morning walk with _Phantom_ of all people. What was wrong with the world, today?

I stood by the door, awaiting Phantom, where he did a weird half-smile before offering me his arm. Even more confused than I already was, I took his arm and he led me to the quiet streets of early morning Paris.

We covered half a block, undisturbed, in silence. This further unsettled me. It wasn't that I wasn't used to the unquestioning silence from Phantom, but with all that had happened already, something just felt off.

"What's going on?" I asked as turned my head to face him. I saw him glance briefly at me, but other than that, I got no response.

He led me to a seat which I gladly took.

"Is something bothering you?" He asked. _Finally_.

"Something about today feels off to me." I answered simply.

"As opposed to any other day? What makes it feel so 'off' as you put it?"

"Well," I began, turning towards him, "For one thing, you're completely friendly. That in itself is odd."

He smiled, "Am I not always friendly?"

I spluttered, "You-I mean- No. No you're not." His smile faded, "You're always cold, and absent. I've spoken to you a total of five times – including this outing – in the entire time I've lived with you. I'm not saying you aren't kind, or pleasant, I'm just saying that I have yet to experience it."

"It's not like you approach me." He said bitterly.

I smiled, "You're not one that is easy to approach."

"Thank you." He said sarcastically.

"Well, you're clad in heavy black clothing, are always hiding away in the music room. You can have the temper of a bull and you don't exactly approach me either."

"That's because we are not friends."

I gave him a dead look. "And yet, you are insulted when I say that you aren't friendly."

His expression lifted a touch. "Touché, Victoria."

I gave him a sceptical look. "I'm surprised that you even remember my name."

He smiled, "When one is complaining about someone in your head, they need to be aware of their name. It's no use calling you 'That pretty girl that lives with me'. Understand?"

In that entire phrase, only one word stuck with me.

"You think I'm pretty?"

He looked shocked for a second. Whether it's because he was unaware that 'pretty' had come out of his mouth, or he was shocked that I had picked up on it, was indeterminate. He regained his composure.

"To the modern society, I guess you would be considered attractive." I sat back feeling rather cheerful. "You said that you remember my name," I said simply, "However I'm not entirely sure that you even told me yours."

He stiffened. "I have not needed a name for many years. And those who have known me would consider me unfit for the respectful identification of a name."

"Do you remember it?" I asked gently.

"… Erik."

Erik. Erik. _Erik_. It suited him. It was sharp, and hard, and yet retained a slight fragment of formality, much like Phant – Erik.

"Erik." I tested the name in my mouth. "I like it."

He looked at me, "You do."

"Yes. It suits you."

He looked down. "Thank you."

x-X-0-X-x

We sat for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

"Erik," I said, "You say that we aren't friends, and yet I ask why."

"I do not deserve friends." He said, without moving – aside from his lips.

"Everyone deserves friends. No one should be alone in this world. No one _deserves_ to be alone. Everyone should have someone."

"Well then," he said, unconvincingly, "To appease you, I guess we are friends."

x-X-0-X-x

We walked back to the house in silence, though it was not awkward, like with the way there. I couldn't help but smile. I had cracked him.


	6. The World's Strangest Friendship

I sat quietly, alone, in the library, engrossed in _Les Miserables_ which I was reading for the second time. Casually, I turned the pages, falling into the pull of the French Revolution, when a peculiar sound fell to me ears. The soft trickle of the keys of an organ. None of the aggression I had come to known were even remotely present in the notes that floated from the music room.

Abandoning all my sanity, I sought after that sound, coming from the doors which at any other time, would remain firmly closed to me. Silently, I pushed open the door. Erik was still, aside from his nimble fingers playing the keys of the song. He was sitting upright, staring intently at the sheet of music in front of him.

I stood there, lost in the music that came from the organ. It was melancholy and yet hopeful. It had a light air, yet it was longing, like a child yearning for a safety blanket. Unwillingly, it brought me to tears. I couldn't place quite what triggered such a strange reaction, perhaps it was the way that accompanying chords seemed to pull the song itself in a whirlwind of emotion or just the relentlessly hopeful tune.

All too suddenly, the song ended, and Erik rested his hands on the keys, lightly.

"That's was beautiful," I murmured, making him jump. He whipped his head around to see me, my face shining with tears. He was stuck for a second, unsure of what to do.

"I-I'm glad y-you liked it." He said softly. I smiled at him, though my eyes were still slightly puffy, and my nose, slightly red.

"What is it?" I asked, coming towards him, sneaking a glance at the sheet music.

"It's a song I composed."

I took a closer look at the sheet. Sure enough, there were words under the notes. Lyrics.

"It's meant for more of a trained voice," He said, "But…" he trailed off.

"But?" I urged,

"But if you want to have a go at singing it, I won't stop you." I looked at him. His face was unreadable, but I nodded and he began playing the opening chords again. I took a deep breath, remembering everything that Christine had taught my all those weeks ago, hoping that I wouldn't sound like a dying animal.

" _Who knows when love begins?_ " I began, softly, " _Who knows what makes it start? One day, it's simply there, alive, inside your heart._ "

I paused to take a breath.

" _It slips into your thoughts, it infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise, then seizes fool control. Try to deny it and try to protest, but, love won't let you go, once you've been possessed._ " I smiled, and took an exasperated breath as the song got higher.

" _Love never dies, love falters. Once it has spoken, love is yours. Love never fade, love never alters. Hearts may get broken, love endures._ "

I took a glance down at Erik, behind his mask, there was a small smile.

" _And soon as you submit, surrender flesh and bone that love takes on a life, far greater than your own. It uses you at whim, and drives you to despair, and forces you to feel more joy than you can bear._ "

I considered the lyrics. Very true, Erik, very true.

" _Love gives you pleasure and love brings you pain, and yet when both are gone, love will still remain._ "

I let Erik take over in a clear instrumental break. I watched his eyes, fixated on the page. He had a clear love for music. The way he played and composed made it obvious.

" _Once it has spoken, love is yours._ " I continued, " _Love never dies, love never alters. Hearts may get broken, love endures. Hearts may get broken…_ " I trailed off. Erik played harder, heading towards the climax of the song.

" _Love never dies. Love will continue. Love keeps on beating, when you're gone. Love never dies, once it is in you._ "

Then the song went impossibly high; " _Life may be fleeting, love lives on. Life may be fleeting."_

There was a pause.

" _Love lives on._ " I held the not as long as I could, as Erik finished the ending chords. I took in a _deep_ breath. That last note went on forever. I snuck another glance at Erik. He, to my surprise, was looking back at me.

"That was lovely," he said. I smirked at him.

"Luckily for you Erik, you don't need to flatter me with false compliments. I know that it was terrible."

He considered this for a moment.

"No, it was lovely. It could use some work, but it was a lot better than I had expected coming from someone who works behind the scenes."

I glared at him.

"Thanks." I said sarcastically. "I'll have you know, that in the last production – Don Juan, I think you've heard of it – I had to double as a chorus member because so many people left. So there."

Erik looked taken aback for a second. "That's rather impressive," Was all he could come up with.

He recomposed himself, "While we are on the topic of your work, I must ask, how is it?"

I sat down beside him on the stool. "Can I be honest with you?" He nodded.

"I just wish I was appreciated."

He glanced at me. "How so?"

"Every person considers myself and my co-workers to be unimportant to the grand scheme of an opera. The only person they would listen to is a stage manager, yet we have none because the M. Firmin and M. Andre are-"

"Stupid?" Erik finished.

I sighed, "Yes. I wish I could, be stage manager. It would make all our jobs incredibly easier. But, it's best not to dwell on the wishes of a small country girl."

I rubbed his knee. "I'll be okay."

And with that, I left Erik to his composing. Almost as soon as I closed the door, I heard _Love Never Dies_ playing behind me. Oh, Erik.

x-X-0-X-x

Raoul and Christine were waiting for me outside the doors of the Opera House, the next morning. That, in itself, was unusual.

"Good morning," I greeted uneasily, as I approached.

"The managers wish to see you, Victoria." Christine said simply. Her face betrayed no emotion, and her eyes did not leave the ground. Both she and Raoul were white as a sheet.

I followed them nervously through the Opera House, to the manager's office. Raoul opened the door, and she and Raoul accompanied me inside.

M. Firmin and M. Andre were within the room, looking no better than Christine and Raoul.

"Mademoiselle Albus," Firmin greeted. I nodded to him, a feeling of unease welling in my stomach.

"Monsieur Firmin, is everything quite alright?" I questioned gently. Firmin glanced at something that I hadn't noticed, before. On the manager's desk, sat a letter. Not even large enough to be a letter in true, more of a note. But the curious thing about the note was that instead of a simple wax stamp, as to be expected from a note of such informality, was instead a wax seal in the shape of a skull. Curious.

"Everything is quite alright, Mademoiselle Albus," Andre reassured much more convincingly, "We only summoned you, too tell you that you have been promoted, to stage manager."

It took a moment for it to sink in. Stage manager. _Stage manager. Stage manager!_ I became very aware that I went as pale as the others.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" Firmin asked softly, but I couldn't move. Raoul shifted towards me.

"Victoria," he whispered, reaching to touch my arm. The movement seemed to awake my muscles and I jumped away from Raoul. He flinched at my sudden movement and whispered a small 'sorry'.

Andre regained his composure. "As it is the end of the week," he said, "You will begin as stage manager first thing, Monday morning. As for now, you can go home, Mademoiselle Albus."

I nodded, the corners of my lips perking up, before turning, and leaving, heading home.

"Victoria!" Someone called. Raoul. I looked at him.

"Where are you going?" he asked. I realized that I was walking through the Opera House to get down to the lake, as I usually did at the end of the day, when no one was there to see.

"Sorry," I muttered, "I was just lost in thought. I was walking into work. Force of habit."

For once, Raoul didn't smile at my casual reply. He swallowed carefully, taking in what I had said.

"Okay." Was all he came up with.

I brushed past him, to the exit of the opera house, leaving him standing exactly as he was a moment ago.


	7. Standing

I was still very dazed and pale, when I returned to the house upon the lake. I didn't see Erik, but I heard a few keys, so I knew he was composing. I didn't want his to see me like this. I cannot say why I reacted so suddenly, but perhaps it was due to all the sudden responsibility thrust upon my small shoulders. Yes, I did say that I wanted this job, but only when it was served to me, did I realize just what I needed to become. And that I was _far_ from ready.

So instead of grabbing a book, and having a rest, I stood motionless in the middle of the library, facing away from the door. All I was aware of myself, was that my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I heard the door to the library. Oh no.

"Victoria," Erik murmured and motioned toward me, touching my arm. "Victoria, are you okay?"

I tried to turn to face him, but my legs gave out from under me. Erik barely caught me, and helped me onto the ground. At this point my whole body was shaking. Even though I was seated, safely, on the ground, Erik still had his arms hovering around me.

"Victoria," It was barely a whisper, "What's wrong?"

I couldn't breathe. My heart was racing and I felt like I was about to lose what little I had had for breakfast that morning. My senses stopped responding, and though I looked frozen, my mind was whirring. I couldn't do this. I wasn't ready. I needed… I needed to leave.

Stars appeared behind my eyes, and I felt as though I was about to faint. _Is this what it feels like to die?_

"Victoria," Erik pleaded, "What's going on? Victoria, you're scaring me."

The shaking didn't stop, instead it got more intense. I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't move my hands. I was completely numb all over and I couldn't feel anything.

The first few tears slid their way down my cheek and I collapsed in on myself. Erik knelt beside me, trying to catch my eye line. I, finally getting control over myself, looked at him, masked face and all.

"Victoria," he said yet again, "What is going on?"

Tears still sliding down my face, answered, "I'm stage manager."

He looked at me, his eyes searching. His lips turned up into a small smile. When I didn't respond the same way, his smile faltered.

"Isn't that a good thing?" he asked "Isn't that what you wanted?"

I shook my head. "When I said it, I guess I did, but I didn't realize the full reasonability of this job. Yes, I wanted it then but now… I'm so scared."

"You needn't be afraid," He reassured, "You have no reason. This opportunity is simply the ability to be heard. That's what said you wanted. Is that not what you wanted?"

I took a breath. "Yes, that is what I wanted."

"Then you _got_ what you wanted. In that case, shouldn't you be happy?"

I glanced at him. For the first time I noticed one eye was a warm, brown, then the one on the side that was covered with the mask, was a clear, piercing blue.

"I-I should b-be happy. B-but I c-can't."

"Why not?" Erik asked.

"I-I… I don't know."

"You should always strive to achieve happiness," He began, "Even when the future seems bleak and empty. Always look for the happiness, however small. Life will get far too depressing if you allow all of that to weigh down on yourself."

I smiled. The phrase seemed familiar.

"Is that what has kept you alive all these years?" I asked

"No." he laughed, "It's just good advice for girls like yo – _all_ these years? How _old_ do you think I am?"

I looked away from him, "I don't know, over fifty?" I ask.

He looked mock insulted, "By my sound calculations, I have just graced thirty."

"Oh." Was all I could muster.

Erik still smiled. "I guess, to a young sixteen year-old however, thirty is still a long while away."

It was my turn to laugh, "Erik," I said, "I'm twenty-one, not sixteen. You're off by five years."

Erik shot me a look, "And you're off by over _twenty_ years."

I said nothing.

And there we sat in the most painfully awkward silence I had ever experienced in my entire life.

Then suddenly, we both spontaneously, just burst out laughing. We must have looked a sight, sitting on the floor of the library, wheezing with laughter at almost nothing but the sheer awkwardness of the previous conversation.

As we settled down, again, he glanced behind me. I was facing away from the door, so I couldn't see what was going on, but it didn't seem good.

His face paled and turned a solemn expression, "Wait my dear, I believe we have a guest."

I turned,

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

"Raoul."


	8. 10 Degrees of Separation

**A/N: I wanted this to be chapter ten, because of the title, but I had to rearrange the order** **because of b** **loody, writing, bloody, bloody.** **Also HI! Hello everybody, I have risen from my grave to deliver another chapter of this story. I am super sorry for my dreadfully long and unexplained hiatus. I lost my desire to write and I also left the POTO fandom, and therefore had no rhyme or reason to continue writing this, even if it is probably my best fic. But I am here now, and that's what matters!**

 **[ERIK'S P.O.V]**

As soon as Victoria was out of sight, I stormed into my music room, grabbed the first thing in sight – a large vase – and threw it on the ground. That fop couldn't just let me be moderately happy. He had to keep storming in and taking everyone I cared about. Good god, why did he care? Did they even know each other? Or was Raoul just hell-bent on destroying what little I had?

I was seething. It wasn't like I _really_ liked Victoria, but she was nice to talk to. I always meant well when it came to her, this was especially clear, when I sent that note to the managers. Well, look what well-meant did.

Maybe it was better this way. She was out of any danger. She was safe – or as safe as one can be with old Foppy McFopperson.

 _Foppy McFopperson_? Great blazes, she's turning me into a school boy.

I turned to my piano. Sitting on the little stand was the piece that I had recently written. _Love Never Dies_. How ironic. This song was written for Christine, about Christine. And yet, at this moment, I hated Christine. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. I couldn't hate Christine. I hated that she stood aside as Victoria was roughly grabbed. I hated that she had the nerve to come back here. I hated how she looked at me. I hated that she called me 'Angel'.

I am far from an angel.

 **[VICTORIA'S P.O.V]**

"I don't remember asking for your help."

Christine looked taken aback. She hadn't expected this. It wasn't like I was fuming. I wasn't tensed. I hadn't raised my voice. I just looked at her and she practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. I swallowed.

Now what?

x-X-0-X-x

Sometime later, a small woman entered my room. She didn't greet me, but told me that supper was almost ready and that "Monsieur De Chagny wished to speak with me beforehand."

I wasn't even given a chance to respond, before the woman left. I sat up from the bed, running my hands across the rich fabric. I slipped out the door, closing it slowly behind me. A few paces up the hall, and Raoul appeared in front of me.

"Victoria," He breathed, "I was just coming to see you."

I nodded to say that I already knew, and he led me to what I perceived to be a drawing room of sorts. I perched lightly on a chair, though I was still poised in case of action.

Raoul sat in the chair opposite to mine.

"Victoria," The gentle way he said my name unnerved me to say the least. "Are you okay?" He questioned gently. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away ( **AN: Straight Angelica Schuyler** **-** **Church, Reynolds Pamphlet, "I'm not here for you" style** ).

"I shall have you know, Raoul," I said curtly, "I am not 'okay'. I am in fact hiding the face of livid."

Raoul sighed, drawing his fingers into his lap. "That is fair, Victoria. We did not give you a choice, however we were not given a choice either, in regards to rescuing you."

I crossed my arms, looking at him haughtily. "Is that so, Monsieur De Vicomte? You were not given a choice either? Forgive my surprise, it seemed as though you _did_ have a choice, and deliberately chose the choice that would inconvenience me the most. Isn't that funny, monsieur? Because I find that terribly funny."

Raoul chuckled, "You misunderstand me, Victoria. Of course we had a choice when it came to taking you away from that…" he paused, his face souring, "that man. However, what he subjected me and my wife to – we had no choice in that."

My eyebrows lifted slightly, and my defensive position faltered.

"Do tell, monsieur. I must know the full extent of this tale that has been hinted at by the both of you. I must know of what the man beneath the Opera House _truly_ did."

Raoul lent forward and rubbed my knee. "Another story for another day."

And with that, Raoul stood and left the drawing room, leaving me to my own thoughts. I huffed. _Another story for another day._ How can he just brush me off so easily? I stood, tossing my hair, and exited in the same direction that Raoul took, intending to follow him to supper.

x-X-0-X-x

Supper was cold and quiet. There were no words expressed, no small talk to be had, and no compliments to the chef. The only sound was the scrapping of cutlery across each of our plates. The air felt dense, like there was a weight on my shoulders that I couldn't see. Both Raoul and Christine looked tense and uncomfortable. I finished my food quietly, and slipped back to my room.

My mind would not stop bouncing around thoughts of Erik, who was now alone _again_. Skies only knows how long he's been alone in his life. Though the events of the play that transpired nearly half a year ago were gruesome, and I knew that it was Erik's fault, I couldn't fully comprehend how the quiet-spoken man I knew was capable of performing such atrocities. I simply couldn't associate the two things with one another, though I felt raving mad for coming to such a conclusion. This wasn't to say that Erik wasn't accountable for his actions - he most certainly was - but, my mind simply couldn't place the two figures together.

I knew that closure from the pair who's lives had been most impacted by Erik's actions, and who's house I was currently residing in, would likely bring some sort of reality to the situation, but seeing as it was dreadfully late now, and they would more than likely be in bed, I resolved to drift simply to a dream land, where Don Juan never even occurred.


End file.
